


flasks of edelweiss

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Implied Relationships, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, Latino Kent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Past Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Past Relationship(s), Recovered Memories, Slow Burn, Time Loop, Vomiting, more like a slow job to the end of a finishing line that's been in site for decades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 01:41:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18976156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: edelweiss n. - a European perennial symbolizing adventure and notoriety. literally translated as "noble white"flask n. - a metal container used to hold and conceal liquid. sometimes a tool of dependency for the excessive.It’s the first time Jack realizes why Kent’s eyes change the way they do. More often than not, Kent remembers while Jack forgets.





	flasks of edelweiss

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Carys for the [beautiful artwork and AU](https://dazaipositive.tumblr.com/post/185156109745/flasks-of-edelweiss-by-palateens-edelweiss-n-a) that inspired this fic, as well as my fucking rad beta Jayme who's always willing to put up with my sporadic writing schedule and the mods from reversebang for putting this shindig together!

In his junior year of college, Jack stumbles onto something he isn’t supposed to see.

 

Samwell is a large enough campus, but its Fine Arts program is small and prestigious. There’s only so many practice rooms in the music building and only so many slots to sign up for each week. It’s inevitable that Jack would run into Kent outside of class. No matter how much he wished Kent would just go away.

 

Logically, Jack knows this is really Kent’s practice room, has been since freshman year. Jack makes it a point to sign up for this room as little as possible, and only after he knows Kent won’t be there. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem but it was impossible to work around Kent’s schedule this time. The only option had been to take the slot immediately after him.

 

It’s the only way to get the best view of campus after all. The music room is in the very back corner of the fourth floor of the music building. It faces the pond at just the right angle to see everything on the beach, the quad, and even the south quad on a clear day. It’s the only place where Jack can get enough inspiration during a heinous case writer's block.

 

He shows up a few minutes after his time has started, trying to create the biggest buffer between him and Kent as possible. Of course, that means Kent’s taken the opportunity to overstay his welcome. Normally, Jack would catch him fucking around on that stupid ukulele of his. Occasionally, Kent would be on his guitar. He was always plucking out some rushed, repetitive punk tune that was more grating than melodic.

 

Today’s different, Jack realizes. Kent’s making use of the room’s piano.

 

He’s playing something classic, soft yet light. Jack thinks it’s Billie Holiday...or maybe that’s just the record Kent’s abuela always played for her husband. Kent’s fingers traipse over the piano so skillfully—meeting each key like a tender lover. They have a life of their own.

 

Jack takes a second to lean against the doorframe. The light from the door window hits him just right, a little spark of warmth on a brittle January day. He closes his eyes for a second as his memories take him back to days long forgotten.

 

He imagines a gentle smile and lithe arms holding him. Jack thinks of a soft voice he forgot existed, signing slow and quiet. He remembers this song, he realizes.

 

“The mere idea of you,” Kent sings loud enough to catch through the door. “The longing here for you. You'll never know.”

 

Jack remembers waltzing to this in Kent’s abuela’s house. He remembers afternoons spent alone, playing instruments, exhausting board games, and living like they were the only people in the world. He remembers being so convinced of that back in those days.

 

Feeling like they could never end. That things could just be as they were, simple and happy.

 

“How slow the moments go. Till I'm near to you,” Kent continues. “I see your face in every flower. Your eyes in stars above…”

 

Kent’s voice was always more beautiful.

 

“It’s just the thought of you,” Jack sings quietly.

 

The piano stops not too long after. Kent plays himself out with a sweet improvised coda. Just like he always does.

 

 _Something extra to remember me by_ , he used to say.

 

Jack is so lost in memories that he nearly jumps when Kent opens the door.

 

Kent, for his part, gapes at Jack.

 

“Oh, sorry,” Kent says quietly, staring at the floor. “Didn’t know there someone here after me.”

 

Normally Jack would say, _don’t let it happen again._

 

But today, he feels compelled to be honest. “It’s okay,” he says. “I liked it.”

 

Kent blushes brightly. He waves Jack off with one hand, gripping his backpack tightly with the other, before running off.

 

Jack stares after him for a long time, wondering where he went wrong.

 

_/.\\_  

 

15 Years Ago

 

Jack’s father keeps pushing him to go on the ice. Not just to skate, but to feel the ice, to get used to the grip of a hockey stick in his hand before the fall. Jack keeps going because his father asks him to.

 

Whenever his stick makes contact with a puck, something happens. Something clicks in his head. It’s like muscle memory; like he’s been here before. He knows where to shoot and how hard to push his little body to get the puck across the ice to his father.

 

Bob beams at him proudly, calls him a natural. Jack wonders if that’s true when he feels like he’s done all of this before. Could it really be a natural talent when he knows exactly what he’s doing? Not like a foal walking within the first hour of life, no.

 

He’s more like an old man relearning what his life was about. The feeling of déjà vu terrifies him. If he’s meant to do all this over again, why follow the same path? Why repeat the same mistakes?

 

Instead, Jack spends most of that summer with his Mimi, his mother’s mother. In her prime, she’d been a concert pianist, and later a conductor for the Seattle Symphony Orchestra. She teaches him how to play the piano and how to read music.

 

She has one of Alicia’s siblings pull out her old violin from storage and send it to Montreal. She has to get it tuned and repaired after years of neglect. But then, on a sunny afternoon in early July—after Jack spends hours wondering why the fourth of July makes him so melancholy—she shows him how to play. Then, she coaxes him to try with his tiny fingers. He’s slow, clumsy, and overall abysmal at it.

 

He’s absolutely delighted.

 

For once, he has something to work toward, something to truly be good at. Somewhere away from his father’s shadow, he thinks absently.

 

He doesn’t need to be good at hockey when he could be great at music. Something for his own right and legacy. He can be amazing, perfect even. The choice is clear to him even before it’s clear to his parents that he should make a choice.

 

His father and Mimi argue about it one afternoon in August when Jack’s violin playing has surpassed that of a typical child’s.

 

“He should be outside playing in the street with kids his own age,” Papa says.

 

“He’s not like other children, Robert,” Mimi says. “You of all people should understand the astounding potential he has.”

  
Jack will always remember what Mimi said next. _A mind like his is a terrible thing to waste._

 

Her words were satisfying in a way Jack hadn’t dreamed was possible. He was a true prodigy, through and through.

 

The issue with being a prodigy, he would later learn, is that it depends on social constructs of excellence that are largely related to his youth and not his legacy. There was an upper limit to how much half-remembered dexterity and common sense could take him in a field that lived and died by devotion to practice.

 

Moreover, to his eventual downfall, no one’s a prodigy at twenty.

 

_/.\\_

 

Present

 

The next time Jack runs into Kent, it’s on purpose. He makes sure to schedule the practice room right after Kent. He knows Kent is a creature of habit, more than Jack ever was, and wouldn’t give up his regular room and slot. Regardless of who he could run into. It’s only a few days later since Kent apparently signs this room out multiple times a week. He hadn’t realized Kent was so consistently on the schedule, into practicing as many days a week as possible, until now.

 

He knows for a fact that Kent already practices at home two hours a day. It’s ridiculous how much time he puts away sharpening his skills when he’s already so good. Then again, Jack remembers them having a similar conversation at one point about his hockey obsession.

 

Jack shows up a half an hour before his time starts. He settles down across from the door, just out of Kent’s potential line of sight. Kent’s playing the flute this time, it’s classical and lively. Jack closes his eyes.

 

Memories of Kent skating flicker through his mind. He always plays fast, lithe, and graceful in every lifetime. Kent wins the Stanley Cup in the last minute of Game 7. Sometimes he does it on his own as an 18-year-old. Sometimes he’s a jaded vet in his last final. Sometimes he does it with Jack, against Jack, assists Jack. Sometimes they go home together afterward to a quiet life. Sometimes they go back to a family. One time Kent sat on the sidelines as Jack won at 25, met him on the ice and they kissed in front of the entire world. So many times they never got those moments, found each other again after death or divorce or just old age.

 

Jack realizes they must have done hockey a few hundred times before they got sick of it. Kent’s flute playing is excellent, skilled, but it isn’t as seamless as his skating.

 

This must be the first time they’ve done music, Jack thinks. It’s funny, the number of time Kenny begged him to quit hockey, take up photography. Jack sighs to himself. At least he chose a less dangerous lifestyle this time around.

 

Even when not as polished as his hockey skills, Kent’s stunning at performing. He’s majoring in music education for fuck knows what reason, but he takes to each new one like a fish to water. Nothing’s ever been hard for him, Jack thinks. Kent could be amazing at anything given an afternoon or two.

 

He’s perfect in ways Jack can only imagine. A flash of jealous runs down Jack’s spine. He takes a deep breath. Jealousy’s never done him any good around Kent, that much is true.

 

When Kent switches from the flute to his ukulele, Jack groans. Kent stops playing. He opens the door.

 

Jack, for all his stubbornness, has the decency to blush.

 

Kent’s lips are a tight, thin line. His eyes are a bottomless black hole. He sighs before slamming the door shut.

 

A minute later, he’s storming out of the practice room with his backpack slung haphazardly over him.

 

“Sorry,” Kent says acidly. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting _your_ practice time.”

 

To Jack’s credit, he’s gotten better at understanding sarcasm in this lifetime. Maybe it’s the perks of having a younger sister.  

 

“Wait, Kenny,” Jack says as he scrambles to get up.

 

Kent rubs his temples. “What, Jack?”

 

Jack wants to say, _I forgot how much it hurt to miss you. I can’t take being away from you anymore, maybe ever again._

 

Instead he says, “You play really well when you aren’t playing that bullshit you normally like.”

 

Kent flips him off before walking away. Jack runs after him for three blocks until Kent gets back to his place. He doesn’t turn around once.

 

Jack gets the overwhelming feeling that he probably deserves this.

  
_/.\\_

 

10 Years Ago

 

He spends all his time away from school practicing, composing, and learning about music. He has nothing but time on his hands. And so, he dedicates his youth to the idea that someday he might make a name for himself. That Jack Zimmermann will be remembered as an artist, a virtuoso, the brightest mind of a generation.

 

Bob stays out of it for the most part. He doesn’t understand his son’s obsession with music, and if anything, he’s disappointed with how he turned out.

 

Jack doesn’t think about it too hard when his parents have a second child. He doesn’t know how to navigate Aubrey. She exists, she can play hockey in a way that most people will forget who her father is. She’s far younger than him, anyway.

 

Still a toddler with her whole life ahead of her. She has time to find her own path away from their parents. Jack wonders in the quiet of his practice room if there’s a life where he and his parents had a good relationship from the beginning.

 

He knows Alicia loves him. He understands that Bob is trying, will get there someday just like he did before. He doesn’t know if they’re the type of people who intuitively understand how to nurture another human being. That’s fine, he thinks. It’s not up to them to raise him this time.

 

What he remembers is bits of haze and fog. It’s moments of déjà vu twisted in clouds of repetition and migraines. He doesn’t know everything about who he was. But he knows where he doesn’t want to go—hockey.   

 

“It’s a beautiful day out,” Alicia says, opening the curtains of his practice room one day in early June. “Why don’t you go play for a while?”

 

“I have to practice,” he says.

 

“Jack,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’ve practiced enough for today. The neighbor boys are outside, why don’t you ask to join them?”

 

A brief flash of shouting and name-calling flickers in Jack’s head. A long time ago, those boys hated him for getting drafted to the Q.

 

On the one hand, he doesn’t play hockey anymore, never has in this lifetime. On the other hand, scars don’t heal so easily for Jack. That much he’s realized.

 

“They hate me,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“You don’t know that,” Alicia says gently. “You can’t know unless you try.”

 

Only he does know because he has tried. He’s so tired of people being so entrenched in the hypotheticals of this reality. He knows how life works, how people work. He’s jaded enough to not trust them but still young in spirit to keep going. He can accomplish anything he needs to by himself with a little bit of time and silence.

 

That’s the only way he’ll ever reach perfection.

 

He has to be perfect at executing with his tools before he can learn what it takes to be a composer, to truly appreciate the difficulty of the artistic process. If that fails, he’ll find an orchestra to play in while he bides his time creating.

 

Jack knows, for the sake of his own sanity, that he should learn to fail more often. To which, he’s accepted that he can fail in the comfort of his own home. If, after years of study and practice,  he finds out that he’s mediocre at composing he can sell out. He could switch genres later and “find his voice.” Fuck, he could even pay someone else to be his face or his hands or his mind.

 

There’s no limit to what his resources can do for him this time. No one will say he got there because of his mother. They’ll no sooner remember his Mimi. It’ll be fine even if it doesn’t turn out how he’d want it.  

  
He just needs the illusion of perfection, and however long it takes to obtain it.

 

The alternative, trying to be good at a sport where his father is legendary, seems infinitely worse. With hockey, it’s just him. Naked, vulnerable to the whims of the public, press, fucking Bettman.

 

No one hates on Yo-Yo Ma for the fun of it.

 

He’ll be a perfect musician if it’s the last thing he does. Anything not to be fucking Bad Bob’s son for the rest of his life.

 

His father’s shadow recedes a little bit every day. That fact alone should be enough to put him at ease.

 

Somehow, it never is.

 

_/.\\_

 

Present

 

There’s a coffee shop on campus that’s popular with English and Fine Art students. Kent happens to work there. So when Kent doesn’t sign up for any practice rooms the next week, Jack happens to show up at Annie’s.

 

He hasn’t been in Annie’s for years, or ever, technically. He orders a pumpkin spice latte out of habit but catches how Kent’s jaw clenches when he does.

 

In another life it was the three of them, they were happy, he remembers suddenly. Kenny missed Bits more than he did. Maybe it’s because he rarely got a chance to be with him.  

 

“Are you in a band?” Jack asks, apropos of nothing. Trying to cast a line, make a connection... something.

 

Kent blinks. “What.”

 

“Uh, you’re ukulele,” he says. “Heard you playing the other day.”

 

Kent closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I know I usually take an extra minute or two with the practice room. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Only two?” Jack says incredulously.

 

The glare that Kent gives him is slow-burning yet withering. It reminds him of a time when Kent didn’t hate him. When everything out of Jack’s mouth wasn’t scathing, brutal.

  
“That’s not what I meant,” Jack says. “I—you’re good. Do you play outside of class?”

 

Kent huffs. It’s like a snort that’s lost all power and composure. He cranes his neck over the counter, staring at the queue behind Jack.

 

“I have other customers,” Kent says.  


Jack opens his mouth to protest.

 

“You’re two years too late,” Kent says quietly. “Just...go away, Jack. I don’t know what your angle is and I don’t fucking care.”  
  
Dejectedly, Jack grabs the drink he didn’t really want from the other counter and walks out the front door. Thinks about how tired Kent looks. How easy things used to be between them.

 

He takes a sip, nearly spitting it out. It’s too sweet, too simple.

 

It’s nothing like his Kenny.  

 

_/.\\_

 

2 Years Ago

 

His name is Kenny.

 

He is from New York, has never lived anywhere else. He has a big laugh that rarely escapes the schooled smirk he keeps tight on his lips.

 

Unlike other things in his life, Jack recognizes him almost immediately. No fog, no haze, and no half-remembered truths. Seeing Kenny is like waking up for the first time. So much of his, no their, past lives come rushing back.

 

They’d been here before, Jack realizes, so many times. They’ve fought wars, conquered demons, and chased each other away far too many times. He can see the entire universe in Kent’s color-shifting eyes. It’s the first time Jack realizes why Kent’s eyes change the way they do. More often than not, Kent remembers while Jack forgets.  

 

In hindsight, he could have said something. It could’ve been different this time. He could have hugged Kent, said how much he missed him, how sorry he was that they have to keep meeting like this.

 

Somethings don’t change, however. Jack doesn’t learn easily. Instead, he ignores Kent for a good month until they’re accidentally locked in a closet together during a party. Their kisses are slow burning, passionate yet familiar.

 

Jack notices the way Kent grips his shirt just like the old days. It makes Jack’s gut twist in a way it shouldn’t. When they finally get free, Jack finds the alcohol.

 

Other memories start flooding back to him. The things he repressed last time around bubble up. The anger, the jealousy...the undying love and euphoria.

 

He asks Kent back to his place. Kent doesn’t leave for months.  

 

Somethings are different this time. Kent’s quieter this time, less self-assured. He goes back and forth on his pronouns a lot. But he can be out here, himself. He’s less of the media personality Jack remembers from their hockey days and more of the kind dork who would always remember how Jack liked his sandwiches.

 

He acts like a kid but speaks like a person far too old for his age. Sometimes Jack would wonder how many lifetimes Kent has done this on his own.

 

Thousands, Jack can only guess. Kent was already so perfect and pure.

 

Kent’s eyes are a universe and his voice a symphony. His is delicate, yet harsh. Kent is every word ever sung and every song ever written. Jack finds a song in every nook of Kent’s body. He finds the inspiration he could only have dreamed of, a passion he thought himself incapable of achieving.

 

Jack gets lost in the days he spent counting the freckles on Kenny’s back. He slips in and out of consciousness—conscious when Kenny is around, and in a dreary stasis when he isn’t. He exists in a shifted phase between dimensions, between where Kenny exists and where he doesn’t. Nothing exists outside of Kenny’s arms.

 

A therapist will later tell him that isn’t true. Rather, it’s just the nature of disassociation.

 

Before then, however, he gets lost in things he promised himself wouldn’t concern him this time. He gets lost in bottles of beers, hidden flasks, and anxiety. Jack swore to himself his anxiety was gone this time.

 

Kent is more adamant that he slow down this time. He cares less if he pisses Jack off. One time Kent slips, muttering, “Thought this was gonna be easier this time.”   

 

Jack wakes up one morning in a bathroom he doesn’t recognize next to a toilet full of his own vomit. For once, he takes the hint and gets help.

 

Surprisingly, it’s his father who’s the most supportive this time. Alicia’s good but she’s far away, pursuing the career she put on hold when Jack almost died. He didn’t die in this reality. So, of course, she’s moved on.

 

“Why don’t you take the semester off?” Papa asks over winter break.

 

Aubrey ignores both of them while on her phone. She calls Jack old whenever he says she’s too young to have one. Her hair is blonde like their mother’s with brown eyes like their father’s. In some ways, she reminds Jack of someone he knew in a past life.

 

He’s too harsh with her about hockey but too complacent about others. He doesn’t think too much about what it says about him and his ability to deal with other people’s emotions.

 

“I don’t need to,” Jack says.

 

“No, you don’t,” he agrees. “...But everyone needs a break after a long streak. Hell, after I retired, I didn’t touch a puck for three months.”

 

Papa stabs at the fish in front of him. He hasn’t been told he needs to lower his cholesterol, yet. Then again, with how he’s been taking care of himself since Aubrey was born, maybe he won’t have to. Maybe some people can’t change for themselves, but for the idea of another person.

 

Jack wishes he could do that for Kent.

 

He muddles through the spring semester, spends time with Kent’s family so he won’t have to go home. Jack wakes up in the hospital a week before Kent’s birthday. Kent isn’t there when he wakes up, but he doesn’t have to be for Jack to know who found him.

 

This time, he knows better. He knows this wasn’t Kenny’s fault. Old habits, unfortunately are hard to break. No matter how much he lives and breathes Kenny, distance changes him.

 

 _Everyone needs a break_ , his father had said. No one could expect Jack to keep in touch over the summer.

 

He knows better than to blame Kenny this time around. Unfortunately, when he first lays eyes on him the next fall, Jack can’t help but do it anyway.

 

_/.\\_

 

Present

 

Jack’s waiting outside of Annie’s when Kent’s shift ends. He took a break to check out the bookstore across the street, but he knows Kent’s schedule by heart. The bitter January air snips at his face. It reminds him of the days when he used to get up at five in the morning for early morning practice. It reminds him of being young, scared, and in love.

 

Of Kent’s warm breath against his ear, reminding him to breathe. That they’d be ok.

 

Kent walks out of Annie’s in a winter coat three sizes too big. Jack stifles his laugh.

 

“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Kent says. “I had to convince my manager you weren’t going to murder me if I walked out the front door.”

 

Jack laughs. Kent flips him off before walking towards his apartment. Jack sighs.

 

“Kenny, wait,” Jack calls.

 

“Nope,” Kent says, continuing to walk.

 

“Just hear me out,” he says.

 

Kent sighs. “Sure, walk me home, find a way to be an asshole about that.”  

 

Jack clear his throat. “My grandmother—”

 

“Nope,” Kent says.

 

Jack groans. “Would you let me finish?”

 

Kent stops abruptly. Jack almost slams into him from behind as a result.

 

“Fine,” Kent says. “But for fuck’s sake, walk next to me. You’re not helping the whole ‘he’s not a serial killer I swear’ angle.” _This time_ , goes unsaid.   

 

Jack doesn’t remember that, but he can’t negate the concept. As long as Bad Bob does something worth remembering, Jack’s right behind him—following his footsteps, trying to destroy him, or find his own path. Maybe someday he’ll be able to look at his father a the flawed man he is.

 

“Earth to Jack,” Kent says.

 

“Uh, my grandmother was a conductor. She has a lot of pull. My mom—” Jack waves his hand. “...knows people. I could get you some auditions, help you meet people. You could have a job after school.”

 

“I already have a job lined up, remember?” Kent says.

 

“A _real_ job,” Jack says.

 

“Because being a teacher is what? Fake?”

 

“That’s not what I mean,” Jack says.

 

“Then what do you mean?” Kent says.

 

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He catches Kent’s hand before he starts to walk again.

 

“I need you, Kenny,” he says, for the first time in decades. “I can’t—we could be great together.”

 

Kent rolls his eyes. “Of course, this is about ‘us.’ Not you being selfish again.”

 

“We need each other,” Jack says.

 

“Oh? Do we, Jack?” Kent shouts sarcastically. “That’s funny because I don’t remember asking for your help. Y’know, seeing as I’m a _leech_.”  

 

Jack frowns. “That was taken out of context.”

 

Kent snorts. “Which time?”

 

Jack doesn’t answer.

 

“Let it go, Zimms,” Kent says. “We’re no good for each other. Thought you knew that by now.”

 

 _I don’t_ , Jack thinks, _you shouldn’t either_.

 

“We’re a team,” Jack instists.   

 

“No, we’re not,” Kent says. “You don’t want me, just the fucking idea that I could make you better or some shit like that. You’re so fucking scared of failure you can’t exist outside of your manic genius fantasy.”

 

Jack groans. “Why are you so scared of your own potential?”

 

“I’m gonna be a teacher. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says. “I like punk. So what? So did you once upon a time.”

 

 _That wasn’t this lifetime_ , Jack thinks. It was back when his taste in music didn’t reflect negatively on his career.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack says. “That’s not who I am. I’m not some—”

 

“Some weak moron wasting his life on a second rate genre and a pipe dream of ‘really making a difference,’” Kent says. “That what you were gonna say?”

 

Jack winces. “I didn’t mean—”    

 

“I know,” Kent says, kicking a rock on the ground. “I thought so too. The first time you said it.”

 

They bring out something in each other, Jack knows this for a fact. They’ve conquered so much together, for each other, and with each other. Something that makes it hard to discern dream from a nightmare from reality. They’re perfectly calibrated to each other, but also woefully dissonant. Like yin and yang if they’d never found their stride; or if yin and yang had never learned to dance harmoniously. They know what perfection feels like, what amazing forces of nature they could be together.

 

If only they could learn to do it without the scars or big crashing waves of emotion. If only words were as easy as the notes in every masterpiece he’s ever written because of Kenny...for Kenny.

 

“I’m not your manic pixie dream queer, Jack,” Kent says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “When are you gonna get that?”

 

“I know,” he says, frustrated. “You’re so much more. And if we could just—”      
  
“No, we’re not doing that again,” Kent says. “We’re not doing anything, ever again. Read my lips: we are done.”

 

Jack’s frown deepens.

 

“You needed time? Fine. You needed space? Sure. You never wanna see me again? Okay, if that’s what you need...fine. But this fucking bullshit—” Kent sighs, scrubbing his face. “I don’t have it in me to spend the rest of eternity dropping everything for the moments you decide I’m not an embarrassing piece of shit.”

 

“That’s not—”

 

“Can’t take it back,” Kent says, turning away from him. “You can’t undo the past...”

 

Jack knows Kent well enough to know that he’s holding back tears he’d rather die than show Jack. A flicker of a past life pops into Jack’s head. Sometimes it was Kent who died too soon. Sometimes, paramedics would find Kent dead or unconscious next to Jack.

 

Sometimes, he’d tell Kent before he did it. Kenny would hold him tightly, coax him away from the bottle. Those times were the best lifetimes, Jack realizes. Kent was there as much or as little as Jack wanted, regardless of what Kent wanted.

 

No wonder he’s so exhausted.

 

“...All you can do is learn to pick up after your messes,” Kent mutters. “Maybe try that next time, eh?”

 

This time, Jack lets him walk away on his own.     

 

_/.\\_

 

1 Year Ago

 

Jack pins Kent down against the door of his bedroom. He’s never liked his apartment as much as the Haus, but, that isn’t his life here. Some sacrifices had to be made along the way.

 

Kent’s lips move like molten lava, consuming Jack whole. They don’t talk as much as they used to. He thinks that’s better than the alternative, tearing each other apart over Jack’s inability to deal with anxiety and Kent’s inability to deal with Jack’s.

 

“I miss you,” Kent says quietly all of a sudden.

 

A lot of things have changed this time around, but some habits are hard to break. Kent’s heart, however, isn’t.

 

Jack hardly remembers what he said after that. It doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

 

Kent hates him as he should.

 

_/.\\_

 

Present

 

Kent signs up for a practice time a few days later. Jack doesn’t.

 

He shows up anyway.

 

This time, Jack knocks on the door of the practice room, holding his guitar case.

 

Kent glares at him warily, but steps aside to let him in.

 

“What now? You here to annoy me to death?” Kent chirps.

 

Jack sighs. He deserved that one. He opens up his guitar case.

 

Bob gave it to him on his sixteenth birthday. He said it was to remind Jack to live a little.

 

“I’m here to apologize,” Jack says. “I know it looks like I don’t know a thing about you, but I know your favorite movie is _When Harry Met Sally_. I know you love snow and hate rain.”

 

He tunes his guitar as he says. “I know you miss the desert.”

 

Kent shuts his eyes tight as he leans against the giant window facing the pond.

 

“Is this your way of telling me you remember shit or is this supposed to be an apology?” Kent asks.

 

“Both?”

 

Kent chokes on a laugh. “Are you kidding me? Zimms, seriously? You come in here all John Cusack with a romcom speech and what? What’s that supposed to do?”

 

Jack frowns. “That I know you.”

 

“No, no you don’t,” Kent says.

 

“But I do, Kenny—”

 

“You know things about me,” he says quietly. “You know who I was. You haven’t even fucking tried to get to know me here.”

 

“What’s there—”

 

“Everything, Jack,” Kent says. “What? Did you think we always come back exactly the same people? You think that just because you remember the last life or three or twelve that suddenly you’re a fucking expert on me? Is that all I am to you? Some banged-up pile of shitty memories?”

 

He stares incredulously. Kent’s eyes are welling up, but he refuses to acknowledge it. Jack steps closer, wiping Kent’s eyes gently.

 

“You’re everything,” Jack admits for the first time. “You’re perfect. I’m sorry I keep messing up.”

 

“I’m not perfect, asshole,” Kent says. “And I don’t fucking want to be...Fuck, Jack, why are you so bad at listening to me?”

 

An odd memory crosses his mind. They were somewhere between life and death. Jack said he was done with hockey, wanted something that would make him happy. Kent shook his head.

 

_Doing something different won’t make you happy if you aren’t happy with yourself._

 

He was right, of course. Jack’s spent the last fifteen years trying to do what he wasted decades doing in some lives...and entire lifetimes in others. Has he gotten there? No. Is it worth getting there? Unlikely.

 

Is it worth losing Kenny once and for all? No, Jack realizes.

 

So much for perfection being something he can work toward...so much for perfection as a defining feature of Jack Zimmermann.

 

He gets a flicker of a lifetime where they gave up young, left hockey, moved out West. They started a photography business, learned four languages, traveled the world, and had a family. They lived an altogether quiet life. That was one of Kenny’s favorite lifetimes, had told Jack as much a thousand times.

 

Somehow, they’ve never gotten back there. Probably because Jack’s been too stubborn to ask Kent what he wants...what he really needs.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, not for the first time and not for the last. Not in this lifetime or ever. “I’ll try harder. I love you. I don’t want to lose you. ”

 

Kent nods. He blinks some tears out of his eyes. He lets Jack kiss some a few of them away.   

 

Then, because he still has a long way to go in terms of learning to feel things when they come, Kenny diverts the conversation, asking, “So what’s the guitar for?”

 

Jack shrugs. “Thought we could play together. Whatever you want. Maybe some Arcade Fire?”

 

Kenny’s smile makes him think they’ll be alright, someday.  

   

**Author's Note:**

> This is a music school AU so ofc I have to talk about the music. So I need to shared [ Billie Holiday's version of The Very Thought of You](https://youtu.be/9yakzL1Q88c), the [piano cover of The Very Thought of You](https://youtu.be/qGd0uAI9gC0) that inspired Kent's cover in the first scene. Also the title of this fic is loosely based on the song [Hidden Edelweiss](https://youtu.be/bH75JGtHBLM) by Spark Alaska. It's a song about loss of innocense and ambivalent love that I tried to capture in this fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, please check out my other pimms fic's on my AO3. And if this fic makes you think of another pimms AU you'd like to read, leave me a comment and I might write it at some point!


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